The Cupid
by AxelCat
Summary: Being a cupid isn't all it's made out to be. It's a job - a twenty four hours a day, seven days a week job, that breaks your heart into thousands of tiny pieces. Axel/Roxas, multiple side pairings. One shot.


It was a job.

That was all it was.

A twenty four hours a day, seven days a week job.

A job that left him empty, jealous, and hurting.

A job that brought him back from Hell.

A job that would let him live forever.

His first job that day was named Kairi. She was destined to lose her heart to a young man named Riku, only for it to be broken by the discovery that after nine months together and their engagement, he fell in love  
with someone else. He would be made to fall in love with someone else, and it would turn Kairi's life into a loveless one, for many, many more years. She would never find true love after him. She would fall in love, sure, but it would never be quite the same. Not the same burning passion, not the same feeling of being complete.

The cupid's heart ached, and he closed those eyes of his, just for a moment, and tried to ignore the pain that he knew she was to go through in her life. Sure, she didn't seem too bad-off, but she certainly wasn't well-off, either, and now, this cupid, by following his orders, had condemned her to a life without her true love at her side. To be fair, though, if he did not give her love then, she may never find it. She may never have that feeling. That feeling that there was more than hope, more than safety, more than there could possibly be. She may never have another cupid assigned to her. There was only one true love for each person, and only one cupid for each person... usually. Some were destined to never find or fall for their true love. Sometimes, this cupid - he sometimes tried to remember his name, but he never succeeded - thought they were the lucky ones. He had seen the lives of so many people be ruined, or changed forever, because their true love wasn't necessarily their true love. The worst cases were when a two people met, and fell in love... then one of them died. Not when both of them died, that was bearable, but sometimes, one of the couple would die, and the cupid would suddenly feel what the partner left behind would feel when they died. He could always feel how his victims felt in the end. That's what he thought of them as: his victims. As soon as his signature arrow met their heart, they were victims of his special brand of love.

His love was desperate, and passionate, with a complete sense of dependence. Where some loves were slow in development, with no feelings of desperation or complete need, this cupid's love was the type that would keep burning, and burning, through everything. Nothing would let any true love falter, but this cupid... his love shone extra bright, just before it burned away, and the only time it would truly burn away was at death. He was responsible for the even famous yet infamous Julietta, Juliet. Her real name was Lisa, but she would forever be remembered as 'Romeo''s lover. The fourteen year-old girl who went through hell to keep her love alive, the girl who killed herself at the realization that her true love was gone. Forever. She couldn't live without that love. Julietta was his first shot. He would never forget that first feeling, of knowing how she would feel in the last moments of her life, and of her love. From that point on, he knew that sometimes he would have to betray fate. He couldn't do that to another child, not when he knew what happened. Shooting a teenager... well, it very rarely turned out well. It was just too difficult to sustain a certain type of love through childhood, adolescence, and then adulthood. He vaguely remembered that his death was prompted by his first love. He knew, then, that it wasn't his true love, but at the time... he had thought that maybe, at the soft age of seventeen, he and his sweetheart would be forever. He couldn't remember his own feelings. He had new feelings every day.

The cupid liked to know his victims. He liked to make a conscious decision about what he was doing to them. That way he could hate himself to a correct level. Kairi was done for. She fell head over heels in love with this man, Riku, and he would break her. That broke the cupid. His own heart was dull, but the pain was deep enough that it could crack it open, just a little more.

Being a cupid was a rotten job. There were around seven billion of them, yet not one of them had company. They weren't really allowed to interact. When the did, they got in trouble for trying to set couples up. The cupid bore guilt for having sent another back to Hell. Oh, he remembered Hell. It wasn't like in the stories, not like in the Bible. It was whatever you most feared in a form that moved and breathed around you. He couldn't remember his Hell - he did, however, remember the terror that came with it. The cold that spread from his stomach through to his spine, up to his chest and down his legs. The only part of him that wasn't frozen with terror was his heart, racing too fast for words, burning under his skin. That was the 'best' part of Hell. He hadn't interacted with another cupid since sending one of his comrades back to that horrible place.

His second assignment for the day was a boy of a mere eighteen years old. His name was Hayner. He was to fall in reciprocated love with another boy, Seifer, who would become involved in a murder - a witness of a murder... turned victim of a murder.

The cupid's hands shook as he looked at Hayner. He could never see what would happen if he didn't shoot his victims. Would Hayner ever love? Would he love Seifer, still, just never find true love with him? Would he be shot at all?

The cupid couldn't do it. He turned and ran, and ran, and ran. Then flew. He curled up and cried crystalline tears into his hands. He looked at those hands of his. They were pale naturally, but slightly tanned from exposure to the sun. He looked at his tears. They were the same colour as his eyes, as far as he could tell: bright, bright blue. He couldn't explain why they were that colour, but it comforted him. It made him feel calm, somehow.

He pulled his 'journal' out of his pocket, and flipped it open. There was a little message scrawled on the top of his then-current page. 'Bad, bad boy. Better hurry.' He gulped harshly and looked down to his own handwriting.

'Note to self: make new arrows.

1. Kairi Kent - 0646

2. Hayner Ross - 0724

3. Namine Evans - 1232

4. Tifa Adams - 1414

5. Demyx Hardwood - 2336'

He focused on the idea of Namine. This was how he worked. He reported to his Superior every thirteen hours, and he would implant new two to six people into the cupid's mind. So, when he focused on one of their names, all of their details would come to mind. Namine Evans, forty-two years old, a very small woman, was then, at five past eight in the morning, seated at her desk in a bank in the middle of London. So that's where the cupid went. He perched on the edge of her desk and watched her. He felt each second go by like a lifetime. It was painful. He had a long time to wait until she went out to lunch, and a little while after that, even, to wait for her to meet the man that she was to fall in love with. She would die happy, in a reciprocated love, while giving birth to their first child. This was one of those tragic loves that just had to happen. It wasn't a love that he felt awful about cursing on her. She would die happy. She would die with her love's hand in hers and her child on her chest. He watched her for every minute up until thirty-two minutes past twelve, when she saw the love of her life, and he let an arrow fly through the gap of his fingers and into her chest. Then he was gone. Off to find a Miss Tifa Adams, who was destined to fall in love with one Yuffie Misuri in under two hours. She was a very beautiful woman. Tall, with dark hair and bright, bright blue eyes. She had that perfectly chiselled face and a curvatious body. She wasn't a very pleasant woman to be around unless she loved you very much, however. She was lucky, though, she would find her happiness in Yuffie, and they would grow old together, although Yuffie would never love her as she was loved.

He doubled over on her bed, nuzzling his neck against his shoulder and just trying to imagine what it would be like to have another being touch him. He hadn't been touched in hundreds of years. Not once. When he realised that, his heart cracked, just a little more. He cried and cried, then he slept. He couldn't really 'sleep', actually, more that he could 'dream'. He had vivid dreams that day. He dreamed of his first love, whose grey eyes had filled him with such joy. He looked in mirrors, and for the first time in so long, he saw his own face. He was small. He was small, and everything about him was small. He could see those bright blue eyes of his, and saw how his golden locks spiked up just from running his hands through them. He felt hands on his cheeks, on his hips, on his legs, in his own hands, and he felt as if there was finally some purpose to life. Then the dream... turned to a nightmare. He dreamed of Hell. What it was like in Hell was indescribable, but he could feel it as if he were there, and he realised why he had to keep going. He couldn't go back there.

He awoke with a start.

He awoke just in time to shoot Miss Tifa, before he disappeared into the darkness to go find Demyx. He had plenty of time. He could wander, he could watch people, he could try to make the dream fade away. It didn't work. So, he just watched. He found out that he was watching a group of young men, probably all in their twenties, discussing what to do about a music assignment in their university. They all took his interest. They were a group of very strange people, but they seemed kind, carefree, and playful. He missed that. He remembered that.

There had to be a third option. He couldn't go on (not quite literally) damning people, making them fall in love... but he couldn't go back to Hell, either.

He cried as he watched the boys interact, as he realised that he had made the worst choice of his after-life in becoming a cupid. At least in Hell, there was touch. There was interaction. There were still small glimmers of hope. Here, there was no hope. There was just the pain of knowing that in less than an hour, one Demyx Hardwood would meet a girl, and she would kill him in the end, emotionally and otherwise. He couldn't do it. He couldn't feel any more of the agony that he put people through.

He saw another cupid, leaning against a wall, and raised a hand in greeting. He was ignored.

He watched the boys, walking with them down the road to the cinema.

Then they started talking. One of their friends had fallen in love - 'been struck down,' as one boy put it - and then Demyx asked a question that turned the cupid's world upside down, inside out, and every other opposite way imaginable.

There was a third option.

Right there, in the middle of the road, the cupid stopped. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, and pressed it to his throat. He begged in his mind. He begged for it to work. He hoped and wished upon wish that it was right. He plunged the tip through his skin, and he fell.

He didn't literally fall. He fell from the intangible planes to the corporeal ones, and right there, he felt. He didn't feel agony, he didn't feel trapped. He felt open air. He heard traffic, and birds, and music. He smelt smoke and perfume. Before he knew what was happening he was pushed onto the sidewalk, a body tumbling over his own.

He was so disoriented. He didn't know what was happening, but for the fact that he was alive.

"B-bugger!" A voice. He heard a beautiful, beautiful voice. Then he opened his eyes. Green. Green brighter than anything he'd ever seen before came into view, and there and then, he knew it had worked. "God, kid, you've got to be more careful! Where did you even come from? You weren't there ten seconds ago, I swear, and then you were there, and that freaking truck, and- oh." They were looking at each other. The green-eyed man crouched over the blue-eyed one.

He sat up slightly, in fact, they both did, slowly helping each other up to their feet. The ex-cupid looked at the man in every way he could. He was perfect. There was no other way to describe him. He was very pale - with small freckles scattered over his face and arms. He had bright red hair that was pulled back into a messy plait, that had several beads strewn threw it. He was impossibly thin, and tall, standing at a solid six foot. He was wearing a ridiculous array of clothing styles - he didn't quite look punk, but he didn't quite look hippy. His hands were on Roxas's forearms, holding him steady. They were warm, and his grip was firm.

He was perfect.

"I'm Axel," said the not-so-stranger.

"I-" The other man stuttered slightly, and blushed bright red. He couldn't remember his name. He looked down, then arched his neck to look back up into Axel's eyes. It hit him quickly. His identity. He wasn't just alive. He was human. "I'm Roxas," he said quietly.

Axel chuckled. The sound was warm, and soothing. It sounded like Roxas remembered honey tasting like. "Well then, Roxas. Are you okay? You pulled a pretty freakin' dangerous stunt there."

"I-I'm fine. I'm good. I'm... I'm perfect." Roxas bit his lower lip and looked down, blushing maniacally. "I'm sorr- I-"

"No, no, I- I get it." Axel's gaze felt piercing. He looked back up, and found only compassion and understanding in his companion's eyes. "Would you-? Ah... sorry, this is probably- ah- screw it." Roxas looked up at him curiously. "Do you want... do you want to get coffee? With me?"

Roxas shook a little, and his heart swelled. It felt impossible. Wonderful. Perfect. "I'd love to."


End file.
